


Thinking Out Loud

by MyOwnTidyIdaho



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 19:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnTidyIdaho/pseuds/MyOwnTidyIdaho
Summary: The leading character is Paul Narita and the story is sympathetic to him.  Derrick, Will and Sonny are important characters.I wrote this work in response to a holiday writing event on a Days Facebook page.The storyline is true fanfiction that deviates from the canon universe of Salem, as my other works have done in the past.  The ideas presented are for amusement only and not to challenge anyone else's ideas on how their characters ought to behave.





	Thinking Out Loud

  

 

  **Home**  

 

 

It’s a feeling you belong there.  A place that’s warm and quiet.  Somewhere cozy and safe.  When you walk inside and there’s an eagerness for your arrival, just as you are.  Just you.  When you’ve reached a place that seems so clear, that you’ve put two and two together, that you’ve opened your eyes and realized what’s on the other side of an equation in your head, how all the parameters you’ve measured and evidence you’ve sampled come together, sending you a signal, like a bell tolling for you, that it’s time to muster for the final charge, to own up to your losses, and then ride past them, fighting ahead towards the one last prize that suddenly is so plain, how the ache and sadness, the good times and bad, add up to one thing, one decision, as if prompted by one cosmic bolt from the great Father above our heads to the Mother Earth below our feet, sparking the power of thoughtful prayer and ardent love that arcs across the sky to join two souls, integrating within you all the experiences and reminders of what has been there all along, hoping and waiting so patiently, for you.   And then the courageous beating of your wounded heart finally sees the fruition of a long and winding journey, where your dreams are conjuring you to wake from your sleep and go onward, to never give up on finding the place where there is good and where there is hope, that you have done yourself justice, that you have finally reached that beloved endpoint.  Because this Christmas, you’ve come home.  

**S**  

Three years apart couldn’t erase blessed memories of what their young minds discovered, how their two hearts were capable of such sweet and powerful desire and such intimate pain, how they’d been drawn together by an undeniable magnetism by that joyous sensation of being held fast in the loving embrace of _the one_ , the man that is your heart’s desire, like brothers, like husbands, like animals, like angels, their frenzied, athletic lovemaking, commensurate with strong, young men, that kept on well into each night until rapturous slumber would overtake them for a few short hours after which they awakened again to the hunger for each other, Sonny diving back into Paul’s arms, holding each other as close as can be, with no gap between their bodies anywhere, like hand in glove.  That is how Paul remembered and hoped it would be again, as if he and Sonny could still fit together that way. 

 

On arriving in Salem, Paul was convinced, as though anyone in their right mind couldn’t possibly mistake how Sonny was destined to be his again, by ordination of pure logic, that the world would make right the missteps of the past, his error in judgment years ago, rejecting Sonny’s plea for commitment, an error worse than any Paul ever committed on the playing field, back when they were perhaps too young to realize what was at stake, and what they left behind.  Sonny could now belong to him.  As if written in the stars, his beloved Sonny would be delivered back.  One could see it in Paul’s face, how the mere mention of Sonny’s name once again brought a light in Paul’s eyes. 

 

Sonny had always been pragmatic to a fault.  Years back when he walked away from it, Sonny left Paul with such a sad reflection in a rain splattered window, watching Sonny driving away from his place for good.  Paul felt pain unlike any before.  His throat hurt as though it would split open if he didn’t tilt his head back, and gently stroke along the sides of his adams apple.  What’s called an ugly cry happened that day, when Sonny slipped from Paul’s embrace that last time, though it was truly not ugly at all, but a beautiful thing to behold, such expression of pure, honest emotion and vulnerability, the pain and tears, Paul’s ardent pleading that Sonny turned away from that day.

 

One doesn’t forget such a memory, no matter how one pretended not to care, no matter how pragmatic, and no matter how one insisted on never regretting their choice.  Sonny considered his path the righteous one, that he’d give up too much with Paul, that he had to walk away before running out of time for a chance at the lifetime commitment he wanted, so Sonny’s young heart told himself.  Thus he delivered his lacerating, heart wrenching news to Paul, how they had to stop. 

 

Pledging to leave and never look back was the best choice, Sonny decided, yet doing so felt like a father grabbing his little boy hard by the hand and yanking him out of the best candy store in the world, one that was open to only Sonny, a candy store offering everything a boy could want in beautiful sweets, every minute of every day.  Sonny suffered then, in every way, more than Paul ever knew.

On Paul’s arrival in Salem, and back into Sonny’s life, that pragmatism ensued again, due to circumstances beyond all control, and it quelled Paul’s renewed hope that had fanned the old flames of what Paul knew in his heart of hearts, that they should join together again, and let the light of their love burn once more.   

Sonny felt it too, in some almost subconscious way, an idea he allowed to come to the surface for just enough air to keep alive, just to sneak a perfunctory taste of how he used to feel about this strapping, sexy, confident, baseball stud, never being quite able to cut the last thread of a chance, that longshot where Sonny could return to that place with his champion, the first man that ever slew him, that made him cry out in that first pain of giving in and giving up, when your man looks down on you with that smile, with a face so drunk with desire, with love and pleasure.  Sonny never forgot that place of giving what can only be given once, when he begged Paul not to stop, when Paul had waited with tender mercy at the anguish, unsure of whether to follow through, whether it was the right thing to take from Sonny that night, while Sonny clung to Paul’s broad shoulders, so tight as if losing hold would mean falling to his mortal end.

From the giving up and the throwing away such sweet beginnings of first love with Paul those years ago, through the next chapters in Sonny’s romantic journey, a roller coaster life wrought, culminating in marriage to an enigma called Will Horton, Paul’s arrival in Salem, followed by Sonny's marital separation, Will fading from the scene, and then Will's ultimate return back to Salem, Sonny knew far too many highs and lows for a young man to endure.  Life jerked him in too many directions, in too many ways beyond his control, and when choices concerning Paul were within his reach Sonny stumbled, suffering a lapse of reason, that baffled those around him. 

A guardian angel watched over, helping Sonny right the ship each time.  How Sonny soldiered on through it all was admirable.  Yet in time his heart grew weary, so that by this Christmas season, Sonny could barely call on his own willpower for one last gambit.  And so he had picked up his phone and made a call that by all intents and purposes seemed insane to try.   

Sonny stared out the window at the falling snow, visibility reduced by a Christmas snowstorm, fierce, swirling northeast winds blowing from lake Michigan, the windshield wipers swept back and forth, and back and forth, methodically clearing the snow to the side, only to be quickly replaced by more thick flakes.   A crush of holiday traffic crept along, as most of the world approached some happy destination.  Folks were gathering in homes all over the world, where stove tops were turned on, ovens were heating up, crackling fireplace warmed festively decorated rooms, and tables were set with holiday meals, sparkling drinks, frosted cookies, mince pies, nuts, candies and other delectable favorites awaiting welcomed guests.  Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.  Plans were all set.  Schedules were in place.  Guest lists finalized.  Everyone knew where and with whom they would celebrate. 

 

Sonny pondered how he had come to this place, this situation, this outcome, every fork in the road of life had got him there, every lost opportunity, how he managed and mismanaged aspects of his life with his husband, and with that first brilliant star that shone in his eyes, his dearest Paul.  He thought back to every interloper, like Derrick, the bartender down at Pho 69; like Brian, the handsome preppy from Salem U; like Paul’s teammates; Will’s friends; and others, some nameless, some not.  All these interlopers, yet not interlopers really, just more lonely souls reaching out to taste a sample, to fill their own innocent hunger for love or friendship or both, how they played their hands just like Sonny, the best they knew how. 

Perhaps the most astonishing turn had been his husband’s appearance back in Salem, and Sonny’s decision to drop Paul for good then, just as he had done those years ago.  Yet his decision was confounded by Will’s decision to pursue Paul, dashing Sonny’s designs on repairing a toxic marriage that had left him so wounded.   Friends and family were baffled.  Their silence was telling.  One couldn’t expect such drama on a soap opera, let alone real life, yet this is what happened, Sonny’s choice.  The sheer insanity of it left others to privately shake their heads and hope for the best, while Sonny realized how life had dealt him another cruel turn.  

 

When Sonny bravely called Paul a week ago, he hoped beyond reasonable hope to venture one last attempt, dropping his line back in the pond again, as if the lonely, cold water there might still bear a catch, just in case something still remained, just in case Paul still cared, just in case he could forgive Sonny for the foolish ironical choices, that Sonny might somehow craft an apology, to ask for Paul to come back to Sonny’s place for Christmas, which for Sonny really meant to start again, that by being together on Christmas, there would be hope for them to be together through to the new year, and then by careful nurturing, until the next Christmas, which by then would mean the Christmas after that and every Christmas onward until the end of time.  So Sonny had sent a last appeal, to politely encourage Paul to please come home to Sonny, that he wanted everything to be like it was, with that loving, noble man that was Sonny’s first time, and was so many wonderful times after, that Sonny hoped would be his once more, for as long as he lived.

 

  
**W**  

Salem took note when Paul Narita arrived.  At once flirtatious and innocent.  So chummy.  So gracious.  So gorgeous.  The kind of red-blooded, sturdy hunk that made young women dream about having things done to them they might not want to admit to.  When Will Horton first encountered Paul’s handsome splendor and his outward, upbeat, sanguine personality, Will assumed Paul must be one of those guys that loved baseball, apple pie, his mother, and above everything else Jesus.  Will smirked at the idea as he joked with Derrick down at Pho 69,   Salem’s Asian noodle house and bar which served as the watering hole for a diverse local crowd.  Derrick was the Jimmy Kimmel breed of bartenders, so welcoming, so friendly, so benign.  Will suggested to Derrick how Paul would likely dismiss someone like them out of hand, raising a Bible towards heaven, pointing to it and then at guys like Derrick, who was then staring back at Will in amusement, and preach how a sinner’s destiny is ultimately to be thrown into the Lake of Fire. 

Will looked down at his bottle of peach Snapple and sighed.  Derrick replied matter of factly, “you might be surprised, although the baseball part you’ve got right.”  Derrick looked at Will with equal parts compassion and concern, how Will never gave himself enough of a chance, but more so how he ought to try mending fences with his husband Sonny.  Will scoffed at Derrick’s advice to go easy on Paul, how Paul was genuinely nice. 

 

That sour disposition Will conjured up in his head concerning this newcomer to Salem was ultimately replaced days later by a miraculous feeling that filled Will’s chest, when down at Salem Square he’d exchanged glances with Paul Narita.  Paul had held his gaze as Will eyes beat a hasty retreat, then on looking back found Paul’s glance had been joined by a radiant smile.  Why Paul would smile at him was beyond Will’s comprehension, yet Will was not able to focus on why such an unbelievable circumstance was unfolding then, how this saint towering before him would shine his glowing benevolence on Will, because Paul certainly was doing so, and therefore Will’s conscious thought process could endure nothing more than how a wondrous, dizzy feeling overcame him then, how if Paul at that moment had tried to witness to him, Will would have fallen to his knees in prayer, and then would have risen up to follow Paul, like a disciple, to do whatever Paul needed.  Build a church.  Wash his car.  Hold his hand.  Anything, if Paul had just asked.  Anything, at all.  That’s how Will felt that first time Paul smiled at him, the kind of feeling Will could get addicted too, a feeling that stuck. 

The next day, back at Pho 69, Will was astonished when Paul walked in, and was thrilled at Derrick mentioning in hushed tones a feeling Paul might even bat on their team.  Will knocked over his bottle of tea at the excitement of such a possibility, causing Paul to look over at him, and then to sit down and say hello to Will again. 

Their acquaintance steadily grew after that.  One couldn’t blame Will Horton for being drawn in, wanting to chat with Paul about everything, to know more and more about him, then to touch him, to hold him, to kiss him, to have him, ingest him, digest him, assimilate him and master him.  Paul did feel like heaven to Will.  How Will praised him!  In the background, the shadow of Will’s marriage to Sonny was always there, yet Will kept it out of mind like a dream or a parallel life that somehow would wait.

 

Paul’s saintly heart was never able to camouflage the sensual visage, coupled with an erotic vibe he emitted without knowing, without trying, so that ignorant Cupid's arrows struck Will’s heart in deadly succession, with no respect for the victim’s unknown nuptial ties.  Will truly let himself fall victim to such circumstances that might never had happened if Paul understood the character and the marital status of this rakish, rambunctious sex toy; this perky, carefree, fireball that others might want to label just a playboy, a player, and a wanton seducer.  Yet, even if Paul knew the truth, he would never use such judgmental terms about Will, or anyone.  Paul tried to focus on the best in people, even when people were difficult.  He was a man with heart. 

Paul saw in Will Horton exactly the kind of thing a lot of men of their leanings often hoped for:  Will’s unabashed, unashamed, athletic sexuality.  Whether that was something Paul had planned on finding at that point, once found, Paul kept returning there to quench his thirst at the fountain of Will’s desire.  This blonde beau Will Horton, with his smirk, with his laugh, with his slutty innuendos offered merely to get a rise from his newly found, devastatingly attractive jock, successfully landed the big trophy, Paul Narita. 

 

Will had succeeded, where others, including Derrick, had tried without gaining noticeable traction.   Derrick in particular never gave up though, it seemed to Will, how Derrick always prepared Paul’s favorite without asking, Lacroix Tangerine and a fresh bowl of unsalted peanuts, offering up enough pleasant chatter across the bar to make Paul feel appreciated but not too much to spoil watching whatever game was on. 

 

Derrick knew Paul had already set his course in Will’s direction.  This Greek god, come to shine his heavenly light on Salem, was shining on Will now.  Something about Will Horton’s carefree nature clicked in Paul’s lonely, frustrated heart.  And for Will, his chance at Paul’s muscular, sexy body was like setting a hungry Dickensian street urchin in front of a smorgaboard of savory meats and luscious cakes and pies.   Paul saw the hunger in Will’s eyes.  He did not make Will wait too long. 

 

Everything came naturally to Will, unbounded, like a little boy set loose on the playground at school, so full of energy, never stopping, and always looking into every opportunity, exploring every avenue. His hands and lips found every place that pleased Paul, places not ventured to often enough or at all, so that soon Paul could not withstand any more and found himself turning back over and then pulling Horton off and up, face to face, to whisper a plea for something he had never done before but desperately knew he wanted then, Will inside that same secret place that he’d just set fire to, that made Paul shudder so fiercely that all he could utter was yes, and yes and yes.  His frenetic whisper was nearly a demand, and represented an amazing new course for Paul, a somewhat unsettling one, towards unspoiled ground, a place no one had ever gone to before, a place Paul knew he needed Will to take him. 

 

Will’s face lit up then, that what he’d hoped for, where they’d eventually get to, was arriving sooner than later, and knowing his own well practiced skill would be the clincher, Will was confident in proving he should always be the flowers and Paul the vase.  Though Paul felt trepidation, he also was overcome with relief and at the same time excitement in this different landscape of lovemaking, to let someone else take the reigns, and by doing so, allowing Will to show Paul those new heights of pleasure Will could achieve for him.  And then once done, that was all the pleasure Paul needed, just to have Will there, and for Will to go and go and go until Paul would seize up, and wrap his legs fiercely around, as he rode Will towards the edge and then off the cliff, falling down and down, to an earth-shattering climax. 

When Paul was fully spent, he would look up into Will’s face grinning down at him.  Will would ask in provocative tones, which meant not really a question at all, “you like that don’t you?”    Paul would gaze in Will’s eyes then and watch how the corner of Will’s mouth would curl up.  Paul wondered whether it was a smirk, not knowing what it really meant, what Will was seeing in him, what Will liked in Paul, the kinds of things you come to appreciate in your lover, the kind of things that continue to draw one to another when a lid temporarily covers the fire below, the part that remains between you and your beau after the mighty eruption is stilled, the things that tether one heart to another.  Will would then rest his forehead against Paul’s chest and Paul would stroke the top of Will’s blonde mop for as long as Will wanted, comforting him and calling him pet names.  _My Willy Billy.  Did my Horton hear a Who?_ Then one time Will responded.  _I meant what I said and I said what I meant. An elephant's faithful one hundred percent._   They both grew silent and rolled onto their backs, staring up at the ceiling. 

 

When the devastation hit Paul, that Will was married, that their amorous adventure was an infidelity, he couldn’t entirely dismiss Will.  After all, it’s said that most men stray.  Paul assumed some blame in it, how he hadn’t been more careful, not seeing the clues.  Paul’s perfect love story, with Sonny already taken, how he’d found his heart’s destiny with Will, was, after all, too perfect to be believable, Paul told himself.  But when Sonny turned out to be the wounded party, the bad situation became a nightmare for Paul, so that all Paul could do was walk away and look down at his feet, and keep looking down and down, until the day Will left Salem. 

 

 

**P**  

Paul felt no capacity to let a light turn on in his head, to realize that a lane had opened up, that eventually, in time, Sonny might come back to him, that even though much time was needed, a formal, pragmatic, serious amount of time, how one day Sonny would take Paul’s hand again, and Paul’s world would seem so right again, how all the years since Sonny had driven off from his place would melt away and the universal order would return.  So it did.  And they were happy again, these two Romeos in love once more, Paul thought.

 

Will’s subsequent return to Salem shook Paul like an earthquake.  It rattled every window and door in Paul’s life, knocking every souvenir of friendship and devotion off of the shelf, shattering them into pieces.  Paul’s journey towards a forever life with Sonny vanished.  He found Pho 69 a godsend then, pouring his heart out to Derrick.  Derrick was a natural listener and offered tenderhearted support, not knowing what to say, just knowing how people on the other side of the bar need to talk sometimes, and knowing in Paul’s case, how that need deserved to be filled.  So Derrick kept a Lacroix Tangerine and bowl of fresh unsalted peanuts ready for a valued customer, and kept validating Paul’s pain without rubbing salt into anyone’s wounds. 

Derrick still didn’t find traction he looked for with Paul, but remained satisfied with their friendship and continued promoting Paul’s favored customer status at the bar.  Paul was not one to say no to a young man’s search for fellowship, and so they became regular pals.  Eventually they buddied up around common interests:  bowling, tennis, racquetball, movies and so on.  Derrick saved Paul from wallowing at home, from playing the victim, from drowning in his own sorrow, from descending into a crestfallen existence of anger and melancholy.  Thanks to Derrick,  Paul’s days were mostly pleasant, and at worst, sometimes merely glum. 

 

Will began arriving at Pho 69 again to satisfy his own need for the camaraderie.  His choice not to pursue Sonny became apparent.  His persistence and his audacity to socialize with Paul were politely overlooked.  Perhaps there was pity towards Will and his social shortcomings.  One can eventually find a way to forgive dishonesty, to be pleasant, and to move one.  But how Will found a way back into Paul’s bed was a bit much, and was especially difficult for Paul’s buddy Derrick to reconcile in his own head. He had little to say to either Will or Paul about that, not that he judged them, but that it left him deeply sad. 

Will returning to Paul shouldn’t have been a big surprise.  Will appreciated as much as anyone the joy of jumping in the sack with a hot man, while Paul needed someone to commiserate, to lick his wounds with, and then fuck like bunnies.  At least that is what Paul thought he needed.  He also thought about Sonny, harboring concerns about him, yet Sonny was no longer part of any scenario that ebbed and flowed inside Paul’s head.  Sonny was no longer on the tote board of Paul’s life.  Paul had moved on.

 

Being with Will again, the pleasure Paul sought was there, but the prior depth of feeling that used to accompany their lovemaking was missing: the glow, the beating of two hearts, the caring, the trust.  What Paul used to envision afterwards, when they held each other tight, a glowing warmth and tenderness between them, was no longer an idea that could ever make sense, and was replaced by an emptiness, like the old feeling of bringing home a one-night-stand after a ballgame, the hurried climax followed by brief, mindless chit chat, and then a hasty good night.  Paul was not proud of himself for what he and Will were doing.  Will pleaded for Paul to warm up to reality, and give it a chance, but there was ice in Paul’s heart that was not yet melting away.  

Paul admitting to Will he would try was more a ploy just to ease the worried looks Will gave him, that deep down Paul did not mean it, because even though he loved the way it felt with Will, and even though Will tried with all his might to make love to Paul with all the magic and gusto and flair he could muster, Paul’s heart wasn’t in it, as though he’d never be able to love anyone again, that now he just wanted to not feel so alone.  Then came the day he realized that what Will and he were doing was not enough, that it was time to make the decision Will feared.    As Will gathered the few things scattered around Paul’s place he said nothing, letting Paul do all the talking.  Before leaving Will patted Paul gently on the cheek and confirmed “then we’re done.” 

Paul wondered what that meant, whether they would never be friends again, whether they would speak again, or see each other again.  After the door shut and the room was quiet, Paul sat for hours, arms crossed, thinking, waiting for all the noise in his head about Sonny and Will to go away.   He waited and waited and waited.  He thought about how he ended up with someone like Will Horton and whether he should have fought for Sonny, and if he did, how the same pitfalls would have likely awaited him.  Paul thought about whether he should try at all, whether all men in Salem were like Sonny and Will, and if so, was he just being too hard on guys like them.

 

The day after Thanksgiving Paul was coming from the club where he’d met Derrick for racquetball.   He was feeling energized and centered enough that when he noticed Sonny taking a coffee at the square, felt compelled to stop and chat.  Sonny waved at him, but then Paul realized Will had come along behind, and Sonny hadn’t noticed Paul.  Paul looked on, watching the interaction between the two, feeling like such an outsider. 

 

The two shook hands.  Will seemed so nonchalant towards his husband.  They chatted for a few minutes.  Sonny looked as if the world had pulled the rug out from under his feet again.  Paul finally caught both of their glances, smiled and approached nearer, but nothing was said.  In the awkwardness Paul soldiered on, waiting for one of them to say something, but neither did.  Paul reached up and began stroking either side of his adams apple.  A tear crept into the corner of his eye, how two men he had been that close two hadn’t the common decency to verbalize some pleasantry with him.  

What Paul didn’t realize was Will and Sonny were working on their divorce, how Will had been pushing for it, that Paul coming upon them just then was awkward, but also how Will as well as Sonny both realized and were thinking to themselves what Paul had meant to them, how Paul might have been _the one_ , how they had blown their chance with him.  Paul didn’t know the absurd idea each one was thinking to themselves then, about the possibility of meeting up with Paul for old times sake, for Christmas, for a holiday activity, a chat, some coffee, a stroll, an evening together, or maybe just a nice holiday fuck, whatever Paul wanted.  A text or two and then a phone call to follow up.  Something like that, like people are apt to do.  But just then, the raw, painful reality of divorce clouded both Will and Sonny’s social ability and shaded their competitive stance concerning Paul.  So nothing was said.

Yet for Paul, everything was said.  Paul looked down at the ground, giving either a final chance to say something.  How these two could both cause that lump in Paul’s throat to hurt so much spoke to the bottomless well of innocent vulnerability inside him.  Yet by now Paul was beginning to be more stoic, with a sense of resignation and anger towards them.  That either of them had nothing to say at all was sad.  Paul was through being the noble one, he thought.  Yet his refusing to be the one to talk first felt childish.   Or was he finally protecting the little boy inside from being hurt one more time.  Paul turned and walked away.

The following weeks felt like the loneliest most quiet time in Paul’s life.   Among the eventual holiday invitations, the request to drop by for the evening, to come over and cocoon with food, drink and a movie was a surprisingly attractive offer, like a ray of sunshine, like opening the window and letting in such a sweet and fresh smelling breeze.  With Christmas nearly upon, the invitation made Paul’s heart a little bit lighter, a little bit less icy.  An evening reclining together in front of the fire or movie, relaxing with a familiar face, back together for some simple fraternity all sounded agreeable.  If there was any kind of agenda beyond that, it would be dealt with, but for now there was victory over the loneliness.

 

 

**W**  

With youth there is desire.  There is vulnerability.  _Wisely slow, they stumble that run fast_ , said Shakespeare, foreshadowing how his character Romeo should not have been so rash.  But that was unfortunately Romeo’s destiny.  The same advice might have been well heeded in Salem by these young lotharios, that their differences led to their lost chances and their ultimate loneliness.  Still, if there is desire and if there is unavoidable destiny, then all one can do is allow to feel the pain and tend to it as it deserves.

 

Across town, Will looked out the window at the Christmas snowstorm enveloping Salem, watching holiday lights blinking through the swirling snow, thinking about the divorce papers signed, about Sonny’s plans, and where Paul would end up that night.  Will tried to focus on the half hearted admission that Sonny and Paul were both water over the dam, how others reminded Will in attempts to boost his spirits, that there were more fish in the sea.  A new year and a fresh start awaited. 

 

The wind picked up then, at times obscuring the lights almost entirely, moments of full white-out.  Will thought about his failed marriage, the how’s and the why's when he realized Sonny had been a wrong choice, how it seemed their good times weren’t enough, why Will chose not to try, not to expend a little marital housekeeping, not to act as if they still felt a deep enough love and connection to carry on, to act as if they had a chance.  Will rubbed his hands down his upper arms and shook his head at nothing in particular.

 

Outside, the prevailing wind grew stronger, blowing through the stubborn bare trees across the neighborhood, causing that kind of sad sounding howl that can happen when such atmospheric chaos is stirring, a sound that fit then, as if sympathizing with Will’s despair.  Will thought about his chat with Paul that week, how Paul had agreed to meet for coffee, and then Will’s acute disappointment how Paul had been pleasant, but not pleasant for reasons Will hoped for, not pleasant about any desire to give in to Will’s plea, to hold each other, to come and make love, to say all those things that lovers say when they have make-up sex and pledge to be better to one another, to make things work, at least to try.  Paul was pleasant just because pleasant is how Paul is, how he always behaved, which the rest of the world might see as admirable by then, but which made Will feel like a hot poker had stabbed him through his heart, because Paul confirmed then that Will ought to stop considering the idea, being with Paul, making love, being close, having any kind of relationship beyond a platonic friendship, how Paul wasn’t available to get together for coffee a second time during the holidays which Will proposed as a last ditch effort to hope beyond hope, because all of Paul’s plans were made, that he wasn’t available, but really that Paul was not willing to make extra time for Will, not that he said that, but how obvious it was that no matter how Will needed some company, Paul would no longer be an easy option, meaning Will would never again do all those things with him that made Paul cry out, those things that made him whimper and coo afterwards, those times they would rinse off together in the shower afterwards, how Paul’s body looked so slick and fine when all wet, how his muscles would ripple when he rubbed the towel over his body after.  None of those things would ever happen again.  But most of all, and what hurt the most, is knowing his own chance at being Paul’s special one was off the table for good.   

 

The snowfall was getting heavier then.  Christmas lights across the way were no longer visible.  Will’s mouth dropped slightly open, looking down and shaking his head, at himself, then reaching into his back pocket for his handkerchief.

 

  
**D**  

In spite of the snowstorm, Sonny arrived on time and boarded his flight at O’Hare.  The jet bound for Dubai made an arc back above Salem before turning towards its heading across Newfoundland, across the North Atlantic and on down to the United Emirates, where a reunion with a close friend awaited.  Far below Sonny’s flight was the city he left behind, Salem, where at that moment Paul was continuing on his way towards an apartment near downtown.  The relentless blowing snow kept traffic slowed to a crawl.  But Paul didn’t care, only glad that he was headed out for an evening of friendship, and in the meantime to have some quiet time to think about his friend, and to be mindful of good times they’d spent together, like the last time they went bowling, how Paul observed the slightest wiggle of the compact buttocks, that protocol to mobilize a careful delivery, with lightning quick timing, sending the ball screaming down the lane, sometimes smashing the pins to smithereens, other times skirting the gutter until falling in, then slamming into the back of the ball pit, after which a nonchalant shrug and a wicked grin were offered to Paul as if _don’t hate me for being terrible because hopefully you’ll think I’m cute_ sort of look. 

Paul thought about the wild miss hits during their tennis matches, sending balls off court so many times, followed by the dashing off to retrieve and run the ball back, handing directly into Paul’s hand, his anxious, hopeful shrug each time, that Paul would not give up on him.  Such a humble sportsman, yet forever terrible at the game. 

Paul chuckled thinking how audacious when donning the black form fitting work shirt and wearing it all over town, the one that fit so nicely over the muscular chest and biceps, the one that proclaimed in bold white comic sans font on the front _PHO 69, BEST PLACE TO EAT DOWNTOWN_ , a shirt few people in Salem would dare be seen in, while Derrick never gave it a thought.  “It’s all good,” he would often advise, as though every situation was no big deal. 

 

Paul grinned, thinking how his buddy would enthusiastically open one of Paul’s select IPA microbrews with gusto, not in a pandering way, but with genuine curiosity to taste something that Paul liked, expressing keen interest in the complexity of the yeast and the dry bitter flavor, while making little rodent-like smacking noises with his lips and tongue.  Paul never minded such idiosyncrasies people might find irritating and ridiculous, other than to consider how terribly corny and silly his friend could be, and trying not to wonder if perhaps all his pal was good at was standing behind a bar and listening to people prattle on and on.  Yet now in retrospect, as Paul crept along in the snow, he thought about his friend in different ways, his buddy Derrick, how endearing he was, something to be recognized and to be appreciated more than he had before.  Paul looked forward to arriving and his evening together with this excellent young man. 

 

After initial pleasantries Paul waited as directed while Derrick went to retrieve the first round of tasty treats.  Returning with a tray of snacks, Derrick found Paul had dutifully staged himself under some mistletoe that Derrick strategically hung, Paul’s head cast downward, shy eyes looking up in mock hesitance.  Derrick then carefully set the tray aside, gently grasped Paul’s chin and bestowed a gentle kiss on his cheek.  Paul cracked his concern that Derrick got his money’s worth out of the decorative investment.   Derrick winked at Paul and admitted, “I knew I could count on you buddy.”    

 

Near the mistletoe along the living room wall Paul was drawn to a collection of family pictures  Derrick had arranged with loving care.  There were two in particular one of his father cradling Derrick when he was just an infant, peering down as if holding the greatest treasure on Earth.  Another more recent picture was a candid shot of Derrick and his younger brother, the two looking at each other with adoring smiles.  The baby picture of Derrick prompted memories he’d been born premature at 25 weeks, how his folks always told him he almost didn’t make it, how his father doted on Derrick, as the picture might suggest, always checking to make sure all was going smoothly, that there were no difficulties, that no latent effects ever surfaced, and how he always reminded Derrick what a lucky father he was to have his boy. 

Paul grasped Derrick’s bicep then and gave a tender squeeze while contemplating how incomprehensible someone so strong and vibrant had suffered such a harrowing start in life.  "But you're such a stud now."  The comment wasn't to indulge Derrick, but rather was Paul's emotional response, how grateful Paul felt about the lucky circumstance, to suddenly know how this robust young man standing next to him in that living room could very well have expired at birth and gotten stuck away in a sad grave, to never grow up, to never come to Salem, to never serve Paul at Pho 69 with his brilliant smile a sparkling bottle of Lacroix Tangerine and share all those conversations, that sympathetic ear, his hugs, racketball at the club, his miss hits, gutter balls, all of it.  Paul imagined that parallel universe, how that would be without his friend Derrick.   

 

Paul couldn’t think of anything else to say just then, mostly because he was consumed with a strong urge to embrace Derrick, and didn’t realize the hold kept on his friend’s arm until Derrick gave him a particular glance, prompting to fill the gap with questions about home and family.  Derrick hadn’t mentioned until then his family was estranged from him, “the gay thing” he referred to it, how his folks couldn’t reconcile with him after finding Derrick kissing a friend out in the garage. 

 

Most would feel pity towards such a circumstance, how someone as young as Derrick was cut off by his family of origin.  But Paul’s head went another direction, how someone abandoned by family could still be so kind, especially so kind to Paul through all his own rough times with Sonny and Will, how Derrick had always been present and listening.  Derrick never shared his own plight even though those hard experiences must have weighed heavily on him, when Derrick thought about home and family.     

 

Paul turned to Derrick then.  “I’m in debt to you.”   He tried thanking Derrick but fumbled with the words.  Derrick stared back at the pictures and assured Paul he didn’t owe him anything.  But Paul patted Derrick on his chest and shook his head, then walked back to refill both of their glasses, and raised a toast to his bosom buddy. 

 

That evening, Paul was finally understanding the things that really mattered.  The joy, the lightheartedness, the fun and games.  Because the sensuality, the sexuality, the cooing and the moaning, could yet still happen.  But for the moment Paul was content feeling the warmth of this place and this person, a warmth he’d never took time to acknowledge well enough, how it felt to find a place of such trust and safety, a worthy reliable refuge full of sweetness, and honesty.  Paul wondered whether he’d finally figured out what was right for him, that his particular guy was it, _the one_ , here in that simple, tidy apartment. 

And more, Paul began to get it, how Derrick was good at other things besides standing behind a bar, like how amazingly well he slow danced to a favorite love song by Ed Sheeran, how Derrick was satisfied with just that much, to dance, that it was fun to dance, that it was especially fun to dance with Paul, that when Paul would very slowly twirl Derrick back and around and then carefully dip him down and back up, how Derrick didn’t hesitate to admit with a broad smile how much he’d like to try that again.  And when Paul very slowly and deliberately guided the two back underneath the mistletoe how Derrick knew to yield his cheek in return to Paul, so that Paul would hopefully bestow a sweet kiss upon it, and how Derrick then knew that Paul would enjoy something beyond that, so that when their lips came together, Paul then learned how Derrick knew how sensuous and soft lips were, how a timid kiss could be so nice, and how Derrick could do things to Paul’s lips that were so lovely, things that made him tingle up and down inside, and how just that much was good enough, that not every guy in Salem behaved as though their goal was a Cirque du Soleil routine awaiting them in the bedroom, how merely holding a friend close, and dancing slowly to beautiful music was a wonderful thing to be enjoyed, because Derrick was good hearted as Paul was, and when the time was right, more might await them, if that was meant to be.

After dinner, they gathered at the window to watch the storm, now intensified into a blizzard.  If there was any question Paul would stay over, the weather answered it.  When Derrick confirmed it, that Paul was staying, safe and sound, no arguments, there was a subtle glow deep down inside Paul.  

 

Later when Paul’s eyelids were heavy, Derrick advised he always showered before bed.  The comment stirred a slight apprehension mixed with anticipation in Paul, followed by subtle regret he hadn’t come back with “I shower before bed too” supplemented with a shrug or wink or something like that.  But by then he wasn’t thinking on his feet, so hadn’t offered a well timed response, anything that might have allowed Derrick to admit whether he wanted to shower together, or a clever quip that might aid casual banter around whether Paul would be sleeping in Derrick’s bed after his shower was finished.     
   
Paul had seen Derrick enough times in the club dressing room, yet now, being so close and so alone, the intimacy of their evening together brought a different light on how Paul envisioned how Derrick must be stripping off in his bedroom, so that when Paul looked at him returning, just a towel draped around his waist, it caused Derrick to smirk, pull off the towel and throw it in Paul’s face as he stepped into the bathroom, yelling at Paul from inside,  “Are you checking out my butt?” in a tone that was partly advising Paul he’d been caught and partly admitting he was pleased, that there was no objection on Derrick’s part if Paul might finally be showing interest.  Paul shot over to the bathroom door, carefully hung the towel over the door, and peeked in.  It was Paul’s turn to respond with a shrug and a wicked grin, a _don’t hate me for sneaking a look at the goods because hopefully you’ll think I’m cute_ sort of look.

 

Outside the bathroom, Paul shut his eyes, leaned his head back and smiled upward to the Universe in thanks.  His grin widened as he bowed his head and emitted a chuckle at recognizing what he’d felt since arriving, since Derrick opened the door, how Derrick was _the one_ that came with such depth of sincerity and kindness in his heart with no agenda, with total innocence and simple desires and nothing else, how he hugged Paul, traded a beer for Paul’s coat, how he later planted himself next to Paul on the couch to hear all about Paul’s day, to share simple honest, caring thoughts, to smile, to laugh. 

Being with Derrick was soothing.  It felt secure.  Derrick had far fewer of the tangible things that  Will or Sonny ever had, yet brought so much more to Paul.  Derrick recognized and was satisfied by a different set of values, which showed in how much a man of respect he was, how he had always shown Paul every consideration and never any impropriety around the obvious allure of Paul’s physical attributes, that each time they undressed and showered together at the club, Derrick never said or did anything to make Paul uncomfortable, never trying to cajole Paul, never taking liberties like a pinch on the ass, always keeping a mild mannered style much like in the way Shakespeare advised about Romeo.  All of that may have been the reason Paul so easily agreed to come for dinner that evening.  Because Derrick was a true gentleman and a prince of a guy. 

 

Paul leaned back against the wall in the hallway, listening to the water running, his friend inside, cleaning himself, possibly cleaning himself a little bit more thoroughly this evening for Paul, possibly not.  That didn't matter so much as how Paul felt about the tiny apartment, the sound of the shower, the knowledge he was sheltered from the bitter, stormy weather, and from other kinds of storms that had blown through his life, because being together with someone like Derrick was a place Paul longed to be, in that hallway outside the bathroom, in that cozy, warm, safe, little apartment outside downtown Salem.  This felt like home.  

 

\--------------END------------------  

 

 

I came up with the title from an Ed Sheeran song, and in my own mind, it is the song they slow danced to at the end of the story.

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lp-EO5I60KA>

 

 

 


End file.
